First Impressions
by LadyEnterprise1701
Summary: "Maybe Admiral Pike was right when he said goodbye to all of us last week…James Kirk may really be the best captain for this mission." Lieutenant Uhura's thoughts as the Enterprise's new captain takes command.


Mild Kirk/Uhura no-drama-just-fluff cuz I can't help it and also because there aren't enough stories out there about them...and also because I had this silly idea for why Uhura had a gold uniform at one point.

Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own _Star Trek_ ; _Star Trek_ owns me.

* * *

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura tugged at the shoulders of her red uniform and grimaced. Whoever configured the uniform replicator ought to be dragged out into the streets and shot for shoddy workmanship. The computer had obviously put this outfit together by the seat of its pants.

 _If computers_ had _pants, that is_ , Uhura thought irritably. _I certainly wish_ I _did._ She squirmed in her chair, trying to pull the too-tight skirt over her hips. When she lifted her backside off the cushion and then fell back against with a thud, the conn swiveled and Mr. Spock raised an eyebrow at her.

"Is everything all right, Miss Uhura?"

Uhura glanced sidelong at him, felt the warmth creep into her face. "Just fine, sir."

He gave her a cool, calculating once-over. With anyone else she would've been offended, but she knew Mr. Spock well enough to know he was merely trying to figure out what was wrong with her and _not_ checking her out.

"I believe you are in some discomfort," he said after a moment.

Uhura hesitated, then slumped. No point in lying; a Vulcan— _especially_ this Vulcan—would pick up on it immediately. She bit her lower lip, then stood up with her hands clenched and pressed close to her hips so no one—hopefully—would notice the way the material crawled up her rear end.

"Request permission," she whispered, "to go to the uniform replicator and request a different size."

Mr. Spock nodded. "Permission granted. Bear in mind, however, that the captain is due to board at any moment."

She returned the nod vigorously. "I'll hurry."

And with that she darted into the turbolift, hoping no one else on the bridge was watching her and that no one would be in the turbolift and oh in the name of all that was good and holy why did this have to happen the very day they shipped out for _five whole years_ —

And of course the halls _would_ be choked with people running to and from their stations. Uhura kept her head down and made her way straight to the replicator room with its little dressing cubbies. It was quiet in there—no one else had had any trouble, she guessed—so she went straight to the computer on the wall and punched in the information it had mangled so awfully earlier in the day: measurements, style, division color.

When the slot clicked open she seized the neatly-folded uniform inside. It certainly felt right—smooth and soft, and in one piece—but as soon as she pulled it out and into the light Uhura's mouth fell open and her dark eyes widened to the size of saucers.

 _Gold. Command gold?!_

"Science officer to crew," Mr. Spock's voice suddenly boomed over the ship's intercom system. "Be aware, the captain is aboard. We will be departing spacedock at 1000 hours."

Uhura clenched her teeth. Darn the blasted machine anyway. She snapped the dress free of its folds and held it up to her. It looked at least one size bigger than the one she wore. _Although at this point I'd rather look swallowed up in it. If this new captain gets one glimpse of me now he'll think I'm a woman of ill repute!_

The thought was so morbidly funny than Uhura gave a grim laugh. Giving the replicator one final murderous I'll-see-you-in-court glare, she hurried into the dressing cubby and wrestled out of the ill-fitting red and into its comfortable—albeit inappropriately-colored—replacement.

By the time she returned to the bridge, she felt far more at ease. Physically, anyway. She had to wipe her hands on the skirt just as the turbo slowed its ascent. Her palms had a tendency to sweat—unfortunate, considering her work demanded hours and hours of working with buttons and levers and switches—and they were putting in overtime now. Uhura drew a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment.

 _It's all right. You're just going to be away from home for five years, that's all. Away from your mother for five years. Living with over four hundred strangers and visiting undiscovered planets for five years._

 _But I'll have Mr. Scott and Mr. Spock, and they're not strangers. And I'm not a shy person. I'll make new friends in no time._

 _And I can still write to Mama._

 _And maybe the new captain will be easy to work with._

Uhura opened her eyes and swallowed. No matter what the new captain was like, she had her oath to obey, her duties to fulfill. In the end, it didn't really matter whether Admiral Pike had a worthy successor. All that matter was how _she_ carried out _her_ personal responsibility.

 _"Do your best,"_ her mother used to say. _"The rest is details."_

The turbolift chimed, the doors hissed open, and Uhura tiptoed onto the bridge. Immediately, she sensed a change in the air. Everyone seemed to be holding their breaths while a stranger—tall, golden-haired, and broad-shouldered—made his way counter-clockwise around the room, Mr. Spock at his side. The Vulcan spoke in a low, firm tone; the stranger listened attentively.

Uhura crept to her station. Mr. Bailey, the new navigator, glanced at her over his shoulder.

"Captain?" she mouthed.

He nodded…then made a face and a questioning gesture at her. She glanced down at the gold skant and shrugged helplessly. Bailey grinned and then jerked to attention as a shadow fell over the navigational console.

"Alpha Shift navigator Mr. Bailey, Captain," Mr. Spock intoned.

Poor Bailey sat up so straight, he looked like someone had just thrust a steel rod into his back. From her vantage point, Uhura watched discreetly as the captain turned his gaze from the view-screen—which showed only the interior of Spacedock—towards the navigator.

It was the first time she'd ever gotten a good look at him, except in photographs. In spite of herself and before she could stop it, she felt her eyebrows lift in surprise.

 _He's so young…_

"At ease, Mr. Bailey," said the captain, a small, kind smile spreading over his soft features. "How long have you been with Starfleet?"

"T-two years," Bailey stammered.

"Well, your Academy instructors must've had a very high opinion of your abilities to recommend your place on this crew."

"I hope so, sir."

The captain's smile broadened and brightened. "Honored to have you aboard," he said, and then he gave Bailey an Old American salute: fingers pressed together and held rigid to the eyebrow. Uhura heard Bailey chuckle as he returned the gesture.

"Alpha Shift communications officer Lieutenant Uhura," Mr. Spock said, discreetly leading the captain back up to the outer bridge.

Now it was Uhura's turn to feel her mouth go dry and sit up abnormally straight. She turned her swivel chair towards them as they passed Mr. Spock's science station and stood up; she got to her feet and extended a hand—dry—without looking at the Vulcan.

"Captain, sir," she said, wishing her voice was loud and sharp like that of her sub, Lieutenant Palmer. The captain didn't seem to have trouble hearing, though. He took her hand and shook it, firm but gentle, then withdrew after the appropriate amount of time.

"Lieutenant," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "Admiral Pike tells me you're the foremost linguistics expert in the active fleet."

Uhura suddenly felt as if Mr. Spock had cranked the temperature on the bridge about fifteen degrees higher than normal. The new captain was an inch or two shorter than the Vulcan, yet he towered over her. Which wasn't surprising in and of itself— _everyone_ towered over her—but his was a larger _presence_ than Mr. Spock's—broader—less elegant but therefore more…she struggled for the word… _earthy?_ Less distant. More approachable…

The way a redwood tree, while impressive, is still easier to wrap your mind around than, say, Mount Everest.

Or something.

"I—" she began, then drew herself up to her full height and tilted her head back with a bright, brave smile. "I appreciate the admiral's compliment, sir, but I'm sure there are _plenty_ of others who could lay claim to it."

The new captain grinned, hazel eyes crinkling slightly at the edges. "Regardless, I'm certain you'll have plenty of opportunities to prove him right. Carry on, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," she said. He strode past her, hands still behind his back. Uhura sank back into her seat, then looked up with a start when she realized Mr. Spock still stood in front of her.

"Have you transferred divisions, Lieutenant?"

She had to purse her lips to hold back a sheepish giggle. "I'm going to smash that replicator, Mr. Spock."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "An emotional response. I will see to it that Mr. Scott gives it his attention after we leave Spacedock."

Uhura smirked. If she hadn't already served two years on this bridge with him, she probably would've missed the faint twinkle in his dark eyes.

Once he'd walked on with his back to her, she glanced over her shoulder to watch not him, but the captain. He gazed around the bridge with an expression of awe and boyish delight…as if he couldn't believe he really stood there, and that he was in command. Mr. Spock approached him. The captain blinked, then turned a surprisingly coy, disarming smile on the Vulcan.

 _That_ , Uhura thought, _must scandalize the living daylights out of that poor man._

"Mr. Spock, is there any reason we shouldn't pull out of Spacedock now?"

"None that I can think of, sir."

The captain nodded, then stepped down lightly to the empty conn. Uhura watched out of the corner of her eye, pretending to adjust the volume of the various intercom and radio channels, until he lowered himself into the ample chair. He placed his hands on the arms and crossed one knee over the other with such confidence and self-possession, she couldn't help wondering if he'd been practicing.

Or maybe he was just born to occupy that seat.

Christopher Pike had never looked so comfortable.

"Mr. Sulu?"

The helmsman on duty turned. "Sir?"

"Take us out of Spacedock. Once we're out of orbit, ahead warp factor one."

"Aye, Captain!" Mr. Sulu said, turning with a bright, excited grin to his console.

The captain turned his chair towards Uhura. "Intership please, Lieutenant."

Uhura drew a breath and scanned her console. _This is it…this is it…!_

"Intership sir."

The captain nodded his thanks and swiveled back to face the viewscreen. But Uhura stole another glance and saw, to her surprise, that his eyes were down, his head tilted slightly towards the arm of his chair.

"Captain to crew."

His voice, smooth and gentle before, now held a commanding edge to it. Mr. Spock moved as silent and graceful as a cat past Uhura, folding his long limbs into his chair at the science station. She wondered if he was listening as carefully as she was for any hints of what serving under this incredibly young man might be like…

"We are preparing to leave Spacedock. Barring any…unfortunate circumstances, we won't be back for the next five years." The captain hesitated; Uhura saw one of his hands, clamped to the arm of the chair, curl into a fist. "That is, no doubt, unnerving for some of us. I know it certainly is for me. But while I can't promise you anything close to an uneventful, danger-free voyage—because that's not what I signed up for, and if you're here then I know it's not what _you_ expect—I do have every confidence that Starfleet has given the _Enterprise_ the best crew she could ask for. And I intend to do right by her…and you."

The captain paused, straightened his back, lifted his head. "All hands to stations, prepare for warp speed. Captain out."

He glanced over his shoulder at Uhura and she cut the intership channel. He let out a breath in a long whoosh that told her he'd been holding it for a while. All the boyish exhilaration had drained from his face; he looked grave, even responsible. Uhura stared at him in relieved wonderment…and, she had to admit it, gratitude.

 _So he's not some overgrown little boy after all. Maybe Admiral Pike_ was _right when he said goodbye to all of us last week…James Kirk may really be the best captain for this mission…_

A voice over the Spacedock channel derailed her train of thought. " _Enterprise_ , you are cleared for exit. Doors opening for you now."

Uhura toggled a lever. "We read you, Spacedock. Heading for the doors at one-eighth impulse power."

"Roger that. Be advised the _Saratoga_ will be on your port side waiting for entry clearance." The docking controller was silent a moment, then added, "Godspeed, _Enterprise_."

Uhura smiled. "See you on the other side, Spacedock. _Enterprise_ out."

The huge Spacedock doors slid open. Mr. Sulu handled his controls expertly—Starfleet scuttlebutt claimed he'd earned enormous respect after zipping the _Hamilton_ past a fleet of Orion ships last year—and the _Enterprise_ slid smoothly into space.

"Turn us around to face Earth one more time, Mr. Somers," the captain ordered. Mr. Spock, facing his own station, turned. The captain shrugged one shoulder.

"Might as well get one last look at our home, Mr. Spock."

"Your home, Captain—not mine."

The captain raised his eyebrows, but didn't argue. The starship swiveled so her forward edge faced the blue-and-green orb that was, for at least fifty percent of her crew, home. Uhura swallowed hard. The continents stood out in varying shades of green, brown, and white. Africa looked beautiful, covered as she was in pockets of green from successful desert rehabilitation programs…and there was America, where Uhura had spent the past ten years of her life, half of the country covered in the last of the winter snows…

 _Goodbye_ , Uhura thought wistfully, then added with a private little smile, _Don't go anywhere till I get back._

The _Enterprise_ broke out of orbit on impulse power. Just as she reached the halfway point between her home planet and its moon, the helmsman pushed a lever forward. The starship gave a slight lurch, and she was on her way.


End file.
